March 1, 4:45 p.m., Crooked Creek, Georgia
Another day. Another criminal to find.
Detective Ellie Reeves crawled beneath the barbed wire fence, gun aimed, eyes scanning the old farmhouse. Smoke billowed from the barn and the scent of chemicals filled the air, a sign that her information was right.
The abandoned barn was being used to cook meth.
Bastards. The mountains had once been safe from crime. Now they offered countless places to hide.
She tugged the barbed wire from her jacket where it had caught, then stood up and ran toward the building, crouching between bushes and weeds as she approached. A beat-up truck and a puke-green sedan were parked beneath a cluster of trees, where the dealers thought they were hidden from sight.
Definite evidence of a meth lab: piles of trash outside; two-liter plastic soda bottles; discarded boxes that had once contained cold pills; windows on the house wide open to release the toxic chemicals.
The acrid, urine-like scent.
She checked her watch. Should wait for backup. She’d called it in on her drive here. But there was no time. The cavalry would have to come later. She had to be at her parents for dinner in half an hour.
Her father said it was important. Non-negotiable.
And when Randall Reeves requested her presence, she responded.
Gun drawn, she darted toward the barn door and peered inside. A skanky-looking guy in his twenties with a goatee stood by a smoking pot, a burly older man counting cash into a tin box. Frying pans and a propane tank were in full view. Acetone, pseudoephedrine, coffee filters, and bottles with rubber tubing lined metal shelves. The stench nearly knocked her over.
She braced her Glock, pushed the barrel through the opening of the door and inched closer. A quick visual sweep and she saw a shotgun on the far side of the room on a rickety table.
They’d never reach it in time.
She kicked the door open, gun aimed. “Police. Put your hands up.”
The men startled. The burly one grabbed the cash while the scruffy one, as predicted, ran for the shotgun. She fired a bullet that pinged off the ground by his feet, and he screeched and threw his hands up. The other guy ducked and tried to roll, but knocked over the cashbox, bills floating into the meth-infused air like green confetti. He scrambled to retrieve them, but she strode over and slammed her boot on his hand just as he clawed at a hundred-dollar bill.
A siren wailed outside, getting louder by the second. Goatee guy dove for the shotgun, but Ellie nailed him in the knee, and he went down with a loud howl, knocking a tray of chemicals to the floor. Voices and shouts echoed from outside, and one of the Crooked Creek deputies, Heath Landrum, raced inside, gun drawn. Ellie’s captain was behind him, his face scowling as he took in the scene.
“Fuck, Detective Reeves,” Captain Hale shouted. “You know better than to open fire in a meth lab.”
She did, but she couldn’t let the jerks escape. Still, she saw what he was upset about. Chemicals had spilled, and the cook pot was beginning to spark.
“Shit. Let’s get them out of here.” She snagged the one with the goatee and let Deputy Landrum haul the bigger guy outside.
Just as they made it to Landrum’s squad car, the place blew up, shooting flames and sparks into the darkening sky.
After an ass-chewing from her boss, Ellie sped toward her parents’ house. She expected another earful for being late from her mother. And another for not stopping to change her clothes. Dirt stained her jeans from crawling on the ground, the barbed wire had ripped her shirt sleeve, and she smelled of sweat and burned plastic from the fire.
Vera Reeves preferred women to dress for dinner. She should have given up on Ellie accommodating her a long time ago. Still, she kept nagging and hoping and nagging and hoping that, one day, Ellie would become a girly girl. That she’d finally trade her shield and gun for a wedding ring.
Not going to happen. Ever.
She was a tomboy and police officer through and through.
But tonight, Vera would not rain on Ellie’s parade. Her father was planning to announce his retirement, and Ellie expected him to back her in the upcoming sheriff’s election. She’d wanted this all her life.
When she was a little girl, she begged him to let her ride along when he went on calls. In high school, when the other girls were primping and infatuated with boys, she’d worked in his office, filing, answering the phone, studying old case files and crime-scene reports. She’d also been obsessed with crime shows and binge-watched FBI’s Most Wanted.
Gravel spewed from the tires of her Jeep as she spun up the drive to her family homestead. After running a hand over her disheveled ponytail, she dusted off her jeans and t-shirt as she climbed out. She dragged on a denim jacket to cover her holstered gun.
With the steep mountain ridges jutting up in the background, the bare tree branches and dark storm clouds cast an eerie grayness over the land. The national forest was spread out for hundreds of miles, with thick wooded areas, deep gorges, sharp ridges and towering cliffs.
When she was five, she’d gotten lost in the midst of the towering trees and tangled vines and had been terrified. The darkness and cold had closed around her during the night as the hours creeped by, slowly and steadily suffocating her. She still had nightmares where she was struggling to breathe as she crawled through a long, deep cave that smelled of a dead animal.
A cave with no way out.
When her father finally found her the next morning, he’d given her his compass, so she’d never lose her way again. Over the next few months, he’d taught her how to read maps. After that, the Appalachian Trail, the AT as it was known, had become her second home.
Her father had always guided her, protected her. Had never let her down.
He never would.
She noticed a black Range Rover parked to the side of the house. Damn. Her father’s lead deputy, Bryce Waters, was here.
In elementary school, she’d actually been friends with Bryce. Their fathers fished together, and she and Bryce had tagged along, rowing their own canoe. They’d ridden bicycles all over town, played softball, and built a fort from scrap wood her father kept in the garage.
But once he hit puberty, Bryce changed. Started showing off. Desperate to be popular, a homely tomboy like her had cramped his style.
Then in high school… She shuddered at the memory. Didn’t need to think about that right now. It was ancient history.
When she was elected sheriff, she’d make it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate his bullshit or drinking on the job, not like her father did. She didn’t give a flip how many women he screwed. She just didn’t want to hear about it. And he was definitely the type to kiss and tell.
The gusty March wind whipped through the trees as she climbed the steps to the front porch, a sign that winter was hanging on with a vengeance. The rocking chair creaked back and forth, back and forth, as if someone had just been sitting in it.
Ellie turned, but there was no one there.
Odd, how sometimes the mountains and wilderness offered solace, while other times sinister shadows floated through the dense mass of rocking trees as if they were haunted. Each year attacks on females increased, and the death toll seemed to rise.
It was well-known in these parts that the mountains were home to all sorts. Some folks who sought refuge in the hills and ridges were mentally ill or hiding from the law. Others were simply recluses or eccentrics who balked at society and chose to stay off the grid. Her father called them the Shadow People.
According to Ms. Eula Ann Frampton, the woman on the hill who claimed she talked to the dead, some were pure evil.
Shaking off her morose thoughts, Ellie rapped on the door before opening it. Her heart raced with anticipation, and she expected the scent of her mother’s celebratory burgundy beef stew or pork tenderloin to fill the air. Instead, there was nothing but the hint of pine cleaner, indicating her mother’s maid had come today. Vera Reeves’ house had to be kept as immaculate as she kept herself.
Maybe this was just a family meeting, and dinner wasn’t included.
She kicked the worst of the mud from her boots onto the welcome mat before she entered, although nothing but a good scrubbing could remove the Georgia red clay.
Voices rumbled as she headed down the hall toward the living room, where she could hear glasses clinking. Her heart fluttered in anticipation, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans as she stepped through the doorway.
Her mother sat in the velvet wing chair by the floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace, a martini in one hand. Her father held a tumbler of whiskey as he stared into the fire. When he turned, his shoulders were squared, posture rigid. His hair looked mussed, his clothes rumpled, and dark circles rimmed his brown eyes. He didn’t quite make eye contact, his lips pressed into a thin line.
She’d seen that look before when he was working a troubling case, one that kept him up late at night, unable to sleep, unable to stop.
Something was wrong.
Had he changed his mind about retiring? Had there been a horrific crime in the town? Was he ill?
Before she could ask, Bryce rushed toward her, a bourbon in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass. Tonight, his green eyes glowed with excitement, and he’d combed his wavy sandy-blond hair back from his forehead. He was good looking and he knew it.
She pulled her gaze away. A snake lived under that skin.
“Guess what, Ellie?” he said. “Your dad’s going to endorse me for sheriff!”
Ellie went bone still, frozen, as if she’d stepped into the wrong house. Wrong family. Wrong everything.
Bryce’s smile suggested he was oblivious to her feelings. Or maybe he wanted to rub the announcement in her face as payback for what she’d done to him years ago.
Probably the latter.
Her father’s hands tightened around his highball glass. “Honey, I wanted to talk to you first, but Bryce got here—”
“You’re backing him instead of me?” The betrayal made it difficult for Ellie to breathe.
“I thought you’d be happy for me, Ellie,” Bryce said, his tone all innocence. An innocence designed for her parents. Bryce was a chameleon. He seamlessly changed skins to suit the occasion and whoever he wanted to impress.
He damn well knew she wouldn’t like being thrust aside by her own father, and he was gloating. “You can transfer and work in my office with me,” he said with a wink.
Oh, hell, no. She’d never work in the same office as Bryce Waters.
He knew that, too.
But that was a conversation for later. Her father was running this show.
“What the hell is going on, Dad? You know I’ve worked my butt off for this opportunity. And I’m more qualified than Bryce.”
“Wait just a minute,” Bryce said, feigning hurt. “I’m qualified.”
Her mother, dressed in an elegant, green silk pantsuit, swept across the room in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. “Watch your manners, Ellie.” She offered her daughter a glass of merlot and patted her stylish brown bob into place, a sign she’d kept her standing appointment at the Beauty Barn today. Gray would never see her hair. “Let’s toast the occasion. Bryce is the right candidate. Being sheriff is a man’s job.”
Ellie pushed the wine glass away. “It is?” she said, barely hanging onto her temper.
“You could always run against me,” Bryce suggested with an eyebrow raise. “Except you know I’m pretty popular in these parts.”
Ellie shot him a look of disgust. “You may have Dad fooled, Bryce, but I know exactly who you are.”
Bryce’s eyes narrowed. Curiosity flared on her father’s face, and for a moment she thought he might question her comment. But he didn’t.
“It’s best, Ellie,” he said quietly. “Being sheriff is about politics as much as police work. You’re constantly in the limelight and under pressure.”
Ellie crossed her arms. “You don’t think I can cut it because I’m a woman?”
Her mother laid a manicured hand on Ellie’s arm. “Honey, elections bring out the ghosts in people’s closets. Word might spread about your therapy sessions when you were younger. You know how folks in small towns gossip.” She pursed her lips. “You don’t want them to find out about your fear of the dark. And the… hallucinations.”
Ellie gaped at her in stunned silence. How dare she say that in front of Bryce? And Vera was the one who didn’t want anyone to think her daughter was unstable. God forbid a child of Vera Reeves was the hot topic of the rumor mill.
“A sheriff has to instill confidence in the people he represents,” Bryce added.
Ellie forced a lethal calm to her voice. “That was years ago. I was only a child, Mother, and traumatized from being lost in the woods that time.” Granted, she still slept with the light on—although she wasn’t about to admit that…
“It would still come out,” her father said. “And you would get hurt, El. Trust me, stick to your job, and let Bryce run the county.”
“Are you working the Cornbread Festival in town this week?” her mother chirped. “Tourists are already flocking in. There’ll be arts and crafts booths, food trucks, face painting and one of those jumpy houses for the children.” She clapped her hands together. “And the Stitchin’ Sisters have a special display of their cross-stitch designs and quilts. Bernice at the bakery is even making her homemade fried pies and cinnamon rolls. And there are going to be dozens of varieties of cornbread.”
Just what her mother wanted; for her to work small town security details. It seemed strange to Ellie to be celebrating cornbread recipes. But there was an occasion for everything in the mountains. Vera embraced the almost weekly fall and spring festivals which seemed to draw tourists. She insisted they brought in revenue for the fledgling little communities and celebrated the southern way of life.
Ellie, on the other hand, was drawn to mind and word puzzles, maps, and exploring the land. Her father had taken her camping, fishing and hiking and taught her to shoot when she was twelve.
She’d admired her father’s toughness and dedication to protecting the residents of Bluff County, which encompassed several small towns along the AT. Stony Gap, where her parents lived, housed the sheriff’s office, and Ellie worked at the police department in the neighboring town of Crooked Creek, only fifteen miles away.
Police work was a better fit for her than homemaking. The only fit for her.
But if Bryce was sheriff, she’d technically be working for him. She wanted to throw up at the thought.
“But Dad—”
“My decision is made,” he replied, his voice curt. “I won’t change my mind.”
“It is a man’s world, Ellie,” her mother said. “It’s time you accept it.”
Sympathy for her mother mingled with bitter disappointment. Her mother actually believed what she said. She’d made a good home for them. She was a supportive wife. But she didn’t understand that Ellie was different.
“Not anymore, Mom,” Ellie said, her anger bleeding through. “Not anymore.”
She removed the compass her father had given her from her pocket and thrust it toward him. “You can have this back now. From now on, I’ll find my own way.”
Betrayal bubbled inside her as she turned and strode down the hall. The gallery of family photos in the foyer mocked her. All the holiday dinners and celebrations. The trips with her father as they hiked and camped along the AT.
She shoved open the front door, slammed it behind her and jogged down the porch steps. Tears stung her eyes as she climbed into her Jeep, but she brushed them away and floored the engine, more gravel flying as she roared down the driveway.
Damn it.
How could she work under Bryce Waters?
She punched the gas and raced toward the open farmland outside of town. Driving fast had become her tension release. Just as she was reaching eighty and flying toward Haints, the bar overlooking the graveyard where a lot of cops and law enforcement liked to hang, her cell phone buzzed. If it was her father, she’d ignore it.
She glanced at the screen, and saw her boss’s name flashing.
Cursing, she pulled over and braced herself for another tirade, fumbled to set up her handsfree, then answered. “Yeah.”
“A little girl has gone missing on the trail,” Captain Hale said. “Seven years old. Name is Penny Matthews. Ranger McClain is with the family. Get over there pronto.”
Ranger McClain—Cord—worked with the Search and Rescue division of FEMA – the Federal Emergency Management Agency – and the National Park Service. The NPS had jurisdiction over the AT, and coordinated with local law enforcement agencies across the 2200-mile trail; fourteen states from Georgia to Maine.
“Copy that.”
Ellie’s heart hammered. The endless miles of forests, rugged terrain, knife-edge ridges, uneven land, overhangs and steep drop-offs were treacherous. So many places a little girl might fall. So many places she might never be found. There were also wild animals that might prey on a helpless child. Ellie’s heart pounded even harder at another thought.
What about human predators?
The wind picked up, rattling the windows of Ellie’s Jeep as she raced toward the park to meet Cord. Noting the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, she flipped on the news.
“This is Cara Soronto, Eleven Alive meteorologist, with an update on our winter storm advisory. We’re now tracking the latest snowstorm along the eastern coast, traveling all the way from New York to Georgia. Folks are calling this one Tempest for its violent winds and bitter cold. Within the next forty-eight hours, expect high winds up to fifty miles per hour and the wind chill to dip into the subzero range. Rain will turn to sleet then heavy snowfall, which could create whiteout conditions.” She paused. “Brace yourself, people. We haven’t seen anything like this in years.”
Ellie’s stomach knotted. A child was missing, and a vicious storm was on the way? They had to find this little girl fast.
Even without a storm bearing down, the Appalachian Trail was dangerous. Each year at the beginning of March, hundreds of adventure seekers set out to conquer the 2000 miles from Georgia to Maine. But the truth was that most weren’t mentally or physically prepared for the unforgiving conditions, isolation, and countless obstacles along the way, never making it to the finish line.
“What time was the child reported missing?” she asked her boss, dragging her thoughts away from the worst possible outcome.
“Timing’s a little sketchy, and something you should narrow down,” Captain Hale replied. “Parents thought she just wandered off. Looked for some time before they called for help.”
“So, it’s possible she’s been gone for a while.” Or that the parents were lying. Covering an accident or a crime, waiting to call because they’d hurt their daughter and needed time to hide the evidence.
Don’t go there yet. People get lost on the trail all the time.
“Exactly,” Captain Hale said. “Ranger McClain organized a search party as soon as he was alerted. They’ve been combing the woods ever since, but so far nothing.”
Every hour that passed lessened their chance of finding Penny alive. If a predator had abducted her, they could be getting farther away.
Ellie forced the images away. She had to think positive. Cord might be mysterious and a loner, but he was a pro. He knew these woods inside and out. Maybe even better than her father did. She ignored the wrench in her stomach at the thought of his betrayal.
“One more thing, Detective Reeves,” Captain Hale said. “The Matthews family live in Crooked Creek, but this happened between us and Stony Gap, so I want you to act as liaison between our two police departments.”
Ellie’s stomach began to churn. Her gut instinct was to insist she couldn’t work with her father or his deputy right now.
But a little girl’s life was hanging in the balance.
She’d have to suck it up. Keep it professional. They’d find Penny then go their separate ways.
“I’m issuing an AMBER alert,” Captain Hale said. “Let’s hope the media can get this in the evening bulletins. The clock’s ticking.”
Ellie glanced at the clock instinctively. She hung up and pressed the accelerator.
Adrenaline spiking, Ellie pulled into the lot for Crooked Creek Park, snagging her camera as she climbed from the Jeep. The chill in the air cut through her, making her pull her coat up around her neck. The dark storm clouds were gathering, rumbling and ominous.
When she’d gotten lost as a child, she’d thought the spiny branches resembled skeletal fingers reaching out to snatch her. She’d seen monsters hiding in between the pines and oaks.
Today that same kind of suffocating fear pressed against her chest.
Except today she wasn’t afraid for herself, but for the lost little girl.
Voices drifted from the woods, a woman’s anguished cry dragging Ellie back to the present.
Penny’s mother.
Sympathy surfaced, but she forced herself to harden. Despite this tragedy, she had a job to do and that meant interrogating the parents. Asking questions they might not want to answer.
But that didn’t matter. Getting the truth was the only thing that did.
Through a clearing ahead, she spotted Cord standing near a plaid picnic blanket which he’d roped off and secured while he coordinated with search teams.
The search and rescue dogs were there waiting, two trained handlers gripping their leashes.
A slender brunette, who looked about forty years old, sat on a boulder, sobbing into her hands. A tall man with messy, muddy-colored hair paced in front of her, his jeans and boots dirty, sweat trickling down the side of his face. SAR—search and rescue volunteers who assisted in emergencies—had brought a cooler filled with bottled water. The man she pegged as Penny’s father grabbed one and guzzled it.
Cord’s smoky gaze skated over her as she approached. He was handsome in a brooding, intense kind of way. Shaggy, unkempt dark brown hair. Strong wide jaw. High cheekbones. A jagged scar ran along his temple and into his hair. His body was honed, muscles galore. Not a man of words, but one of action. His rugged appearance, bronzed skin, North Face jacket, and calloused hands made it obvious that he thrived in the wilderness.
Occasionally she read lust in his eyes, and memories of the one night they’d spent together before sh. . .
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